


Long Way Up

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bromance, Gen, Hostage Situations, Humor, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:25:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam tries to snag Michael and Fiona the perfect wedding gift, which leads to a hostage situation and a rescue mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Way Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bromancefest '13!
> 
> Thank you to Rose Malmaison for the header and fanart!

Michael Westen carefully fixed the zinnia his mother had pinned onto his boutonniere before running a hand through his hair. He remained a mile or two away from perfect cleanliness, but this would do nicely until he could get to the men’s room and check himself.

“Have you heard from Sam yet, Ma?” 

Madeline was pin-tucking his dress sleeves, and she had to wiggle the tip about toward the corner of her lips just to get out a few words. “Michael, what kind of question is that to ask me now? I told you when I picked you up he was going to Gainsborough County to get you a wedding present.”

He glowered at her, wincing as she briefly pinched his skin in the process. “I thought the two of you were working together,” he said. “He said something about a big surprise when we were packing up my suite at Elsa’s place.”

His mother’s eyebrow rose slightly, but she didn’t look up from the task at hand while he probed about for information. “Do I look like the plotting type?” Maddie slipped another bobby pin through the thick cotton material of her son’s jacket, then sat back on her tiptoes, giving him an almost baleful regard. “Oh Michael, You’re going to sweat to death out there. Are you sure you don’t want me to find something lighter?”

“No, this is…” he tried to reach for her hands and she threw her arms around his waist. “Just. Fine.”

“I always knew you’d make it,” she grinned. “You and Fiona were meant to be! You just had to wade through all of the crap the world kept tossing in your way before you got there.” 

“Yeah.” He awkwardly patted Maddie’s hip until she finally released him from her maternal death-grip. “I need yogurt,” he hissed, his teeth locked together in a false, pained smile. “Call me if Sam rings,” he said, and took off before his mother could protest.

*** 

Sam Axe squinted through the glare permeating from the glass case of Esther’s pawn shop. The array of merchandise would dazzle the most discriminating junkie; watches dripped with diamonds beside expensive tennis bracelets, and racks of earrings glimmered under the artificial lights. Sam squatted down before them and watched the shop’s owner finger a cluster of pearls. 

“I think,” he said, reaching into his pocket and unrolling the top layer from a cluster of one hundred dollar bills, given to him that morning by Elsa ‘just because’, “I’ll buy ‘em that one.”

Sam had pointed two oversized diamonique rings, which glinted in the small neon lights illuminating the case. He received a sardonic look as she donned gloves. “Two oversized paperweights,” she noted. “Coming up.”

“Woah, they’re NICE looking paperweights,” Sam protested. “I’ve been looking for the right pair of slave bracelets for a gag gift for these two jokers and hoo brother are those perfect.” He rolled out another thousand. “Gimmie those peal earrings for Fi and two jet studs for Mikey, will ya? And those cups, so Maddie won’t get pissed.” 

She silently derided his choices with her disdainful expression. “These are your best friends in the world? Really? Are you sure?”

He snorted. “There aren’t any finer people in the world than Mikey and Fi. Those two are perfect for each other.” He smiled, remembering when things had been slightly rockier between them. “They deserve the best, man – the absolute best after everything they’ve been through together!” Sam enthused.

Her eyebrow rose. “So they’re old friends of yours, Mister Finley?”

“The oldest and closest,” Sam said. “Don’t tell Fi I said that, if you bump into her someday.” Esther gave him a blank-faced stare, and Sam chuckled nervously. “Just wrap them up. I’ll be paying with cash, hon, if that’s all right.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” said Esther, extinguishing her cigarette before unlocking the case and retrieving Sam’s real gift: a pair of matching cufflinks inlaid with jet, the earrings and a set of golden goblets. “How much will it cost to erase the monograming?” he asked.

Her sneer telegraphed the forthcoming answer. “We don’t do that.”

Sam gave her a cocky grin. “What if I say please a lot?”

Esther turned away, muttering about his tendency to try and flirt his way out of trouble. Which forced Sam to give the wall a cheeky little smirk, and then wait awkwardly for her to face him. After another moment of complete silence, she rose with the trinket in her hand. She rang up his purchase and bagged it in the nicest box and tissue on the premises.

“Are you sure you can’t gimmie the name of an engraver?” Sam hoped aloud.

“Check Google, hon,” she suggested, shoving the bags in his direction. 

“Thanks,” he grumbled, tucking it between his straining fingers. Hefting the goods over his shoulder, he turned toward the filtered sunlight streaming in through the doorway.

“Have fun at the wedding,” she called. 

“I’m planning to,” Sam grinned. “But luck’s got nothing to do with it. I don’t know what it is, but I have a feeling today’s gonna be a great day.”

When he spun around, a newcomer stood before him, holding a pistol, his index finger clicking off the safety. 

Sam’s features fell, and he automatically raised his palms skyward. “A great day,” he muttered. “Just great…”

*** 

Squinting through the dust-laden blinds of the church’s rec room, Michael found his mind wandering away to times past – all the better to ignore situations present. “Did I ever tell you how Sam and I met?” Michael asked his mother, who occupied the davenport by the changing room, her hand wrapped around the bottle of booze she’d brought along for the boys’ ‘good luck’ shots.

She belted down a shot of whisky and gave him a side-eyed look. “Something about a desert and a bunch of Libyans trying to kill the sultan?”

“No,” Michael corrected her. “Libya was after. We met in Panama in the early 90’s. We had to evacuate some scientists from a paramilitary faculty.” Michael collected himself, rubbing his aching temple. “They were enriching uranium off the books. Sam was working freelance as a favor to a friend, and I was running my first mission as a Ranger.”

As always, the very specific language of spy technology seemed to reach his mother’s indifferent ears; her eyebrows wobbled but didn’t arc. “And what happened?”

“Well,” Michael began, “Sam was posing as a rich Texas businessman. You know how bad his southern accent is…”

“He sounds like Colonel Sanders.”

“...It was a dead giveaway. He’s always been proud of that accent.” Michael turned toward his mother. “I’d tell him every time he tried to use it that it couldn’t fool a deaf man, but he was always so stubborn, always thought he was right.” He flicked open his cell phone, hit the number of the emergency contact, and was greeted by Sam’s voicemail. 

“He’s in trouble,” Madeline observed, knowing without having to say it, and already headed toward the door.

“I know, “ Michael said grimly. “I’m going to have to check it out. Go find Jesse, ask him to check the tracer on the emergency phone. It should be in Sam’s car.”

Madeline headed into the hallway. “I’ll start calling around. Maybe he’s still back at home with Elsa.”

“I don’t think he’d still be there. Sam bragged to me about his spray-tan yesterday at the bachelor party.” Michael glared at the phone as it once again took him to voicemail. “We need to start canvasing the neighborhood. Ma…”

She glared. “Michael, don’t you dare make me…”

“Go get Fiona.” 

Madeline trundled down the hallway, and as Michael’s brain buzzed with possibility, he heard her mutter, “we’re going to ruin her make-up.”

*** 

“Woah,” said Sam, holding up both palms. “I don’t want any trouble here.” He heard the gunman click the safety down and his eyes narrowed, snapping instantly into a more serious frame of mind. “

“Keep your hands up and keep going backwards.” 

Sam followed the guy’s instructions; a glimpse of his face peering through the stocking he’d yanked crookedly over his features revealed a set of scared eyes staring back, a jaw set firmly in quiet contrast. He calculated the risk of ducking for the piece securely strapped to his ankle but quickly decided against the maneuver, not wanting to endanger Esther’s life. “If you want cash I’ve got all the money you need,” he said. “My girlfriend owns the hotel down on forty-second Road,” he continued, “and we can get you whatever you need.”

“Shut up!” The robber turned toward Esther. “Empty your cash register.” 

She pulled the drawer open, emptying rolls of hundreds onto the counter. “Do you want any merchandise?” Sam boggled at her bored tone of voice but realized quickly that she must have been through this sort of thing before. So had he, but the timing had thrown him entirely off. 

“Just gimmie the cash!” he shouted.

“All right,” she held up one hand as she worked the register open. 

“Look man,” Sam said, “you don’t have to do this. This lady’s been working hard her whole life, scrimping and saving to buy a shop of her own. I remember when she was just a hustler bussing tables back in Vegas.”

“…Thanks,” she snapped, dumping dollars and change onto the counter. The robber scooped them up and Sam locked eyes with Esther, who slid a hand down under the counter and stabbed her panic button while the robber was distracted.

His eyes snapped toward her face. “What did you do?”

Her hands hit the counter with a thud. “Not a thing.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

“I was scratching my crack!” she shouted. “Happy?!”

He frowned. “You stand still. No moving, got it?” Then he shouted aloud, “NOBODY MOVES.”

But Sam knew exactly what Esther had done, and he felt his options narrow as he realized their robber friend wasn’t about to walk away without the loot he perceived to be his. Sam remained frozen, awaiting the best opportunity for escape. He wouldn’t leave Esther behind, not when she could so easily be injured or used as a pawn for collateral or insurance. Considering his options for another moment, he watched the suspect start scooping the money up and tuffing it into his front pockets, then make tracks across the pawn shop with his ill-gotten gains scooped up in his greedy hands. 

Sam waited until he’d turned toward the door before tackling him, his fist slamming into the guy’s face. In the scramble for the weapon, Sam tried his damnedest to keep the guy pinned to the ground, encouraging Esther to run out the back – which she tried to do, but froze in her tracks at the sound of a police siren wailing toward them, the screech of brakes depressing.

It was enough to distract Sam, and his assailant took advantage. His arm made a wild swing, looping around Sam’s neck and dragging him with a yelp to the ground, pinned face down against the guy’s sweaty, hairy armpit. 

Outside a siren wailed, then a brace of static irritated his ears.

“This is the police! We have you surrounded!” shouted a firmly authoritative voice.

“You ain’t gonna take me alive!” the robber shouted, mashing Sam into his ribs, a chilly brush of metal against bone making Sam stand as still as he possibly could.

“Guess I’m gonna miss the reception,” Sam grumbled as Esther glared him down. “And probably the rest of my life,” he added quickly, eyes darting toward the shuttered windows, the sweat pooling against the robber’s ivory skin as he calculated the rit of making another run for it, another break for the light. Ultimately he lies still, waiting for the next break, the next opportunity.

*** 

Michael pulled the Charger toward the back of the church, fully braced for the Irish dervish flouncing toward him. 

The slap he received when she pulled open the passenger side door was just the beginning of their fight.

“Why did you let Sam leave the church by himself? On today, two hours before our wedding,” she held up her hand and said, “while my nails are drying?!” her eyes blazed pure anger at him. “These are four hundred dollar French tips and they’re RUINED thanks to Sam. The two of you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do!”  
“How much did ma tell you?” Michael asked, watching her buckle herself in.  
“That Sam’s disappeared. Again. As he always does whenever we need him to be somewhere.” Michael glared at her, and Fiona noticed his look and played it off with a sigh. “Is he answering his phone? No, of course not – we wouldn’t be running downtown in the middle of a sweltering heat wave if he were.” She pulled down the passenger-side mirror, and then checked her makeup. “My foundation is going to melt off,” Fi growled. “If he’s not dead he will be in minutes.”

Michael watched her, still completely silent. “Are you finished?”

“Yes,” she growled. “Where do you think our favorite lush is hiding?”

“I’ve tried every bar in the neighborhood and every girlfriend I could get on the phone. None of them know where he is.”

Fiona stopped fluffing her hair, eyebrow on the rise. “This is an actual emergency, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Michael admitted. “Sam wouldn’t avoid my wedding, no matter how deeply he disagrees with my marrying you.”

“Which he doesn’t – not anymore.” She groaned and sat back. “Check the police scanner. Something must be going on somewhere.”

Michael gestured grimly toward the radio as he pulled the Charger out of the church’s parking lot and guided it up the on-ramp to the highway. “The scanners are totally clean; in fact there’s some sort of radio silence being enforced. It’s useless without Sam’s connections.”

Fiona stared at the setting sun, waiting for Michael to give her some clue as to how they should proceed this time. “But if you don’t have any inroads and I don’t have any inroads, what are we supposed to do?” 

“Go on a bit of a recon mission.”

“You don’t mean – oh Michael! You must be joking! We’re going to have to search every building in the neighborhood until we see some sign of him?”

“Sam would do the same thing for the both of us,” he pointed out.

Fiona huffed out a breath as they zeroed in on the familiar offramp to Barry’s glitzy bungalow in the Coral Gables section of town. “This had best be worth my time,” she said.

“I’ll make it beneficial for you.” Michael said loftily. 

“Are you daring me, Michael?” she said, all Cheshire Cat suggestiveness. 

“Not while we’re seeing Barry. Oh, and Fi? Tell them you’re a bride,” he teased. “Just for the extra perks.” 

Her nails left tiny, sticky trails down the back of his right hand as he swung the Charger toward the off-ramp.

*** 

“Y’know…” Sam began. “I’ve been a hostage before, but you take the cake.” He turned toward Esther and said, “Compared to the Guatemalan drug kingpin who almost fed me to his pet shark for ratting him out to the feds, this is kind of a picnic.” He gagged as the criminal yanked at his collar. “Hey, watch it! This mouth’s worth thousands of dollars!”

A nonplused look crossed the thief’s face as he started tying Sam up by the wrists with a length of golden extension cord. “Think I should gag him?” the robber asked Esther, who sat on a wooden stool near a display case of china, cuffed to the brass handle. 

She shrugged. “Sounds like a good idea from here.”

“Aww, Esther, you’re all heart. I’m starting to regret not using you as a human shield.” He frowned up at his captor. “So what’s the plan, buddy? Gonna sell us off to the gypsies? ‘Cause I’ve gotta warn you, I don’t play classical guitar too well but I know how to sell pots.”

The man’s fist thudded into the small of Sam’s back, temporarily knocking the wind out of him. “What I’m doing and where I’m going’s none of your damn business,” the robber said, finishing off the knot tying Sam’s wrists to each other. He then immediately got to work binding his feet. 

“Really?” Sam laughed. “Why’re you bothering with secrets, man? Pretty soon the cops are gonna call you up on Esther’s phone and they’re gonna ask you what your demands are. Giving us a little sneak preview won’t harm anything.”

As if on cue, the phone did ring. Their robber headed toward it, leaving Sam’s left foot unbound. While the crook was firmly distracted requesting cheeseburgers and luxury cars by working on the wire binding his wrists, subtly frictioning it against the corner of the doorjam. He couldn’t feel the plastic covering give – no shredding of the wire could be detected. Sam began using his long fingers to untangle the mass of knots as the robber thundered over the phone about deadlines, desires and basic wants. Blankets and a flashlight, and sticks of gum, and probably a helicopter.

“We’re going to die,” mouthed Esther, and Sam simply rolled his eyes and got back to work at scraping away at his extension cord bond.

“What do I want?” their captor spat into the phone. “I want what every single guy in the universe wants: to have equal time with my kids, for a better place to live, and for my boss to gimmie back my job!” He grabbed a Lalique vase off of the display counter and hurled it into a wall, bellowing Tarzanically into the phone.

Great. They had a nut with a grudge to bear, the kind of guy who either gave too much of a shit about the money he’d been trying to fence off of Esther’s goods, or the kind for whom robbery was a means to an end, a surefire attention getter that’ll finally make his mean wife or the lousy courts finally open up their ears and listen to his sad tales of woe.

“If you don’t bring my wife to this dump by three o’clock, I’m gonna start shooting hostages. Got it? Good. Earl Pines, over and out,” he said, slamming down the receiver.

They had a name. Sam relaxed imperceptibly; if they had a name, they had a way to squirm into the guy’s good grace; with that little bit of information he could humanize themselves to him, make them seem worthy of salvation and release. To the man holding him, it meant absolutely nothing, but to Sam it meant getting the three of them out of the shop with minimal bloodloss.

A moment after Earl hanged the phone up, Sam went into a soft sell. “Earl?” he said quietly.

“Keep your ass still,” Earl replied, returning to bind Sam’s feet.

“Is it true? All of that stuff you said about your wife keeping you away from your kids? That’s rough, man….I had a wife myself – she dumped me for my best friend.”

“…And you’re goin’ to their wedding?” Esther asked.

Sam’s smile turned quite pained. “My best friend. At the time,” he said stiffly. “This is a new best friend - look, Earl,” Sam said, cringing as his laces were double-knotted about each ankle, “just know this – there’s life after divorce. Kids grow up and when they get to the right age, they’ll make their own choices. Hey, I bet they’ll choose to come see you just as soon as they can.”

Earl shrugged. “Y’know, Weird Al, that’s a really nice sentiment. Gonna have it engraved on my tombstone.” He pulled Sam’s bonds together, tight and high. “But nah.”

 

“Uh…how nah?” Sam wondered. “Earl,” Sam said, clearly, but gently, as if he were speaking to a toddler, “if you kill the two of us, y’know they’re gonna lock you up for a really long time, right?”

“I’m aware,” said Earl.

“And you know what would happen if you go through of it? Your wife’d throw a hell of a fit! You’ll never get near them – she’d guarantee it.”

Earl shrugged. “And if I had a child and a wife, I suppose that would be an imposition.”

“…Heh. That’s really clever. Why are you feeding the feds a pack of lies?”

“That’s for me to know and you to hear on 20/20 when I’m being interviewed by that leggy goddess Diane Sawyer.”

Sam closed his eyes quite tightly, his teeth grinding together as Earl headed to the barred window of the shop. The cops didn’t shoot; they couldn’t, without a clear picture of the scene inside of the shop. His brain started working overtime in pursuit of a way out.

As he chewed over the future in his mind, he hoped desperately that Michael and the rest of his family had figured out that he was missing. 

**** 

“You’re telling us that you don’t know where Sam is?” Michael glowered, shielding his offended eyes from the lacquer and plastic home décor packed crossways into the entranceway of Barry’s bungalow. He stubbed his toe against an ottoman and cursed vilely beneath his breath. 

“The last time I saw him was at your bachelor party,” said Barry, emerging from the kitchen with a pile of undercooked-looking bread and shrimp canapés. “Oh, by the way – I think I’ve still got your tie in the pocket of my pants.”

Fiona’s glare cut sharply across the room toward Michael – he avoided her gaze, staring at his watch. “There may have been vodka.”

Fiona snarled at Barry. “Give me names,” she demanded, “Places. Sam has to be somewhere other than underneath a blonde half his age!” 

Barry shoved a piece of cheese-laden bread into his mouth. “Welph, thresh this place on Bermuda Hundresh way…” 

Fiona bent whipped herself into a proper standing position, a tiny walther in her grip. She clicked off the safety. “Swallow.”

He gulped. “There’s a place on Bermuda Hundred Way where he likes to go to think. A park near a beach; there’s lots of people like him –old and hairy.”

“Damn it,” Fiona growled. “What if he fell asleep on the beach?” She glared at her watch while holstering her gun upon her thigh. 

“Thank you, Barry.” Out of pity, Michael picked up a canapé and shoved it into his mouth, wincing, eyes watering as the taste rolled over his tongue.

“No problem. Hey, what’s the big rush?” He eyes Fiona’s fancier-than-usual make-up and wondered, “is today the big day?”

“No,” Michel said quickly, “we’re just…”

“…We’re getting ready for the dress rehearsal,” she said, firmly and quickly. 

“Ahh, fine. You’ll let me know when the real thing comes along?”

“Sure,” Michael cringed. “You take care, Barry.”

“Sure will.” He reached for Fiona’s hand and pressed a quick, sloppy kiss against her knuckles. “Hey, somebody’s gotta kiss the bride first!” 

When Fiona popped him in the mouth, Michael didn’t even try to step in and intervene.

*** 

Sam, meanwhile, was lost in a ramble. Between bites of Arbys he regaled the group with old stories, playing a tubby Scherezad to hold their captor at bay.

It was Esther who finally piped up and said, “You’ve never told us how you and that Michael guy met.”

Sam chuckled. “That’s a long story. Way too long to tell here.”

“Oh, you have extra time,” Earl said. “They screwed me out of curly fries.” Picking up Esther’s phone, he immediately started to ring up the police, who broke the silence by barking their demands. 

Sam settled against the metal pylon chilling his back. “Yeah…so…once upon a time I was a soldier. And I was stationed overseas. Black ops. My job was recon for all the guys we sent into deep cover down in Iraq. They were real pros, those teams- didn’t seem to need our help no matter how thick the cover got. So I spent most of my time flirting with the local girls and soaking in the sun, and playing poker with whoever was around after the last detail came back to basecamp. Six months in and seven sunburns later, we finally – after spending months doing nothing but training exercises – got the call. There was a cell of insurgents bunked down on the western side of Baghdad, a team of Rangers called in to lead a group of captured university students to safety. Mikey was on that team, and he had been working as an undercover guy to flush out their leader. By the time my guys came to rescue them he was in pretty bad shape. They’d laid him out on the hotel room floor, and he was bleeding pretty badly. Took some shrapnel right in the abdomen, couple of inches below the heart.”

Esther watched Sam’s eyes as he quietly trailed off. “So what happened next?”

He frowned. “An even longer story.” Sam admitted.

“I don’t see us getting free anytime soon. So just go on and tell me.”

Sam grunted. “We were pinned down….”

*** 

“…And there was no way out,” Michael told Fiona. They’d managed to dig their way over the cordons that blocked off the pawn shop where Sam was being held hostage. Their other journeys lead them to empty bars and strip clubs filled with elderly retirees. They’d found Sam purely by accident -when Fiona had noticed a news report on TV. Now they hid in the storage room of an evacuated Greek restaurant, kneeling on emptied crates that once held polish cabbage, their binoculars trained on the front window of the shop. 

“Sam bent down and breathed me back to life. He got my heart beating again with bullets flying around our heads.” He slipped the binoculars back into the front pocket of his pants. “He could have died at any time, but he chose to stay there and make sure I survived. That’s true loyalty, Fi. From that day on, Sam was the best friend I’ve ever had, and the most loyal. Which is the reason we have to save him, and why we’re not going to let the police ‘do their job and reel in the madman’. Now do you understand me?”

Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Do you suppose he was buying me something with diamonds?”

Michael’s nose wrinkled. “Fiona…”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable question,” she insisted. “We both deserve something for putting up with his irritating, chauvinistic…semi-loveable self.”

“You’re not as mad at him as you thought I were.”

“Maybe not,” she sighed. “What’s the plan?”

“I want you to blend in with the crowd,” Michael said. “You need to cause a disruption – nothing that would cause a stampede, but something that would turn heads….”

Fi swung her own head around to mentally record the inventory of the kitchen. Noticing an group of large bags of half-prepared fruit juice left lying, bloodwarm, on the counter. she smiled. “Perfect. What will you do?”

“Sneak two blocks around and behind the cordon, cut my way through their air vent, sneak into the shop and get the drop of them.”

“Try not to break anything,” Fi demanded.

“And ruin your wedding?” he teased.

Fi just turned away – and started applying her knowledge of squibs to the task. “Sam had better appreciate you for this.”

Michael grinned. “I have a feeling he already does.”

***

“…So that’s what happened. We were buddy-buddy for the rest of our tour. We didn’t get really close until he looked me up when he got back to Miami, but .” He said, “Earl, I dunno if you understand how important today is to me. Mike’s like a brother to me – the brother I always wanted but never had. If I don’t show, he’s gonna be disappointed. Haven’t you ever had a real friend? Somebody who’d always look out for you, even when you’re down and out and nobody else would care to?”

Earl shrugged. “Had a dog named Dingus once.”

Sam cringed. “Right. You loved Dingus like your own brother, didn’t you? You shared your troubles with him, let him lick away your tears and cuddled him when you were feeling blue.” Sam wriggled closer, trying to project as much emotion as humanly possible from his awkward position on the floor. “Imagine if Dingus was dying…”

“Oh, I don’t have to imagine that one,” Earl said, sitting down upon the display case and swinging his legs like a toddler. “I was overseas, serving in Da Naang when I got a letter from my pop telling me he’d passed on. Actually he said the poor mutt ran away and joined the circus.” He chuckled, hand snaking around the glass top beneath him and drew forth a small knife the size of his palm. Decorated over with burnished images of deer frolicking in a mountain glen, Earl cradled it like a lover between his meaty palms, and then played with the tip of it. It was an action surprisingly galling for such a lightweight. 

“So that’s it?” Sam asked. “You don’t care about anybody anymore, so you buy a gun and make a huge mess outta things? Your life’s so barren and worthless that you’ve stooped to making up a stupid story just to grab attention, ruin my day, rob my friend’s shop and wreck my best friend’s wedding? Just for the hell of it?”

Earl shrugged. “I didn’t know about your friend’s wedding, but the rest of it was just plain good luck.” Then he scratched his forehead with the butt of his gun.

“…Earl,” Sam said calmly, “your piece is fake, isn’t it?”

“Now that you know, wouldn’t it be the best thing just to lemme go?”

Earl puffed up, his eyes dark and sullen upon the landscape of his features. “If you knew that it was, would you’ve paid attention to me? Would the cops be giving me a free lunch? Nah, they’d just haul me away to the nearest loony bin! Well, I ain’t putting up with that crap anymore! No more therapy sessions , no more meds, no more talking about my damn feelings to strangers who could give a piss about me! This time it’s Earl’s turn, and all of Miami’s gonna hear me talk! Got that?!”

Earl took several menacing steps forward, and Sam changed his expression into a more defensive one. “Easy, chief. No need to take my head off - if my hands were free,” Sam declared, “I’d be holding them up.”

The robber’s countenance changed, and he turned toward the window. “Wonder when they’re gonna bring Barbara Walters in to interview me.” 

Sam slumped in defeat against the pylon. He was rapidly exhausting the rest of his options. Glued in place by his captor, he could continue to rub his bonds loose, but could he sneak over to free Esther without drawing Earl’s attention? The possibility of them ending up filled with holes, bullet wounds created either by the cops outside or Earl’s wild shooting within the shop. If he had to choose his death, he would have preferred a quick, quiet single bullet to the forehead, but Earl did not seem to be the type to let Sam get away with a merciful exit. Verbal diplomacy was out of the question; it was clear that Earl didn’t give a damn about anything other than the attention this protest might garner him. So Sam continued to rub his bonds loose, defeat warring with hope in his brain, his soul.

When the shackles finally gave way, he sat quite still until he saw that Earl’s attention had been firmly divided away from his captives. Crawling like a freshly-initiated grunt over the carpet, he took Esther by surprise, and had to muffle her shout in the crook of his elbow.

“How did you…” she began.

“Let’s just say I’ve got a lot of experience with ropes,” Sam replied quickly, then assessed the damage done to her bound wrists. “Are you okay?”

“Just a little sore,” she said, shooting Sam a look of fear. “I heope he’s not looking. Is he looking?”

“Nah,” Said Sam. “You’re in good hands.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” she retorted. “Is everything you told that man about yourself and Michael true?”

“All of it. I love the guy.” Quickly, he corrected himself, “as a friend.” 

Esther chuckled, a sound that died in her throat as Earl swung around. “What the hell’re you so happy about?” he frowned. “what’re you up to over there? Where’s the fat guy?”  
Sam’s ego got the better of him. “Fat guy?”

The sound of Earl’s safety clicking off as he approached filled Sam with dread. As a last ditch effort, he grabbed Esther’s shoulders and hauled her face-forward into the wall, prepare to take the full impact of Earl’s bullet himself.

_Click. Click._

Sam gingerly peeled his fingers away from his face. Charles’ middle finger kept stabbing down against the trigger, tongue caught bloodily between teeth, eyes mad-bright and oblivious to his lack of success. 

Sam crept closer, counting the clicks off, each empty chamber loosening each muscle clenched tight in his throat. “…Earl,” Sam said calmly, “your piece is fake, isn’t it?”

Earl’s mouth twisted itself into a scowl. His eyes bore holes into Sam’s face. “Would you’ve taken me serious without it?”

Sam was beyond tired of Earl’s little morality plays. Lurching toward him, both hands wrapped around the interloper’s throat. 

That was when all hell broke loose, both inside and outside of the little pawn shop.

*** 

The four-minute crawl from the exterior air conditioning duct to the showroom floor proved to be dusty business for Michael. He imagined Fiona’s disgust in the total disintegration of his wedding clothing and prepared for the verbal onslaught she’d deliver to him. Michael, however, knew what was most important- and it wasn’t making sure he was pin-neat in the photographs. He rested an ear against the cold metal interior of the duct and heard, faintly, the bass timbre of Sam’s voice and the twang of his captor’s comingling. Withdrawing an accelerate torch, he promptly smelted a Michael-sized hole in the bottom of the tube, working with his typical speed and efficiency. As he worked he thought to himself that spycraft was an incredibly imprecise business. He might be in time to help Sam…or he might be about to walk into something bigger than either of them.

By the time he got there, Sam had already wrest the perp to the ground, his knee firmly pressed to the guys’ throat. He hadn’t even broken a sweat when Michael dropped knees-first onto the parquet floor.

“Hey, Mikey,” said Sam, as casually as possible.

“Did you want my help or…” Michael asked.

“Nah, everything’s groovy,” Sam replied. He raised his head and tilted his chin toward the counter he’d thrown himself over to rescue himself. “Help Esther.”

But the sassy older woman wasn’t in need of help; she pushed Michael away when he tried to help hr to her feet and stood firm and true while rubbing her raw wrists. “Let me take a wild guess - this Michael.” She eyed him with a combination of wonder and mild disdain.

“Sam , have you been talking about me?” wondered Michael as he tossed sam a pair of zip ties.

“What else was I gonna do during a wait like that, huh?” He frowned, pulling the cuffs tight. “Hey, you didn’t get married without me, did you?”

Michael grinned. “Sam, do you think I’d get married without my best friend?”

Sam just shrugged. “If Fi was mad enough.”

“You’re the only man who’s ever stood by me for longer than it takes to fry up an egg,” Michael said. “You’ve gotta stick up for the guy who dragged you all the way out of hell and back again.”

Sam grinned. “I thought you’d at least save me some wedding cake.”

“Ugh,” coughed Earl, “can you get off of me?”

“D’you hear something?” wondered Sam, dragging Earl to his feet by the ties.

“Sounded like the wind,” observed Michael, holding open the door for Sam and Esther, all of whom met the police with hands up and faces fixed into frozen rictus smiles.

*** 

“So you never got a reason for his little outburst?” Fiona asked, strolling out the front doors of the Miami Dade County Police Department as if she had been born to rule it. 

“Some people just need attention, Fi,” Sam said. “Y’know the type – always acting like a jackass just ‘cause they want a couple of minutes of your time.” 

“But Earl was a little different, wasn’t he?” Michael asked. His hand on the wheel was calm, steady, as he drove them back to the chapel. 

Sam shrugged. “I have a feeling that what he said about the corps, what he went through – that part was real.” 

Fiona shook her head. “A decent waste of a man’s mind.” 

Sam snorted at her. “And of a chunk of C4, right?”  
She glowered at him. “Look at my face,” she said, pointing to the runny eyeliner she had expertly re-applied just a moment ago. “Do you know how long I worked on this make-up?” she growled. “Do you know how many hours I spent trying to look good for him?” She cross-checked Michael with an elbow as she sat down.

“Hah! I’ve seen you look worse, sister,” Sam said diplomatically.

She smacked him across the back of the head, and Michael’s cool intervention was all that stopped their brawl. Stopping at the back of the church, Mike let Fi out and she climbed up the back staircase to the bridal chamber. 

“Can you find your way without us?” Michael wondered.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be able to,” Fiona replied. “Yes,” she said shrewdly, giving her make-up a once-over in the Charger’s rear view mirror. “I’ll do fine.” Then she deliberately smeared mascara all over his rear-view mirror.

Both men watched her go, jaws dropped open. Michael simply reached for a rag and started to scrape his mirror clean, but Sam just shook his head and gave her red head a death glare.

“I dunno, Mike. Do you really think it’s a good idea for you to marry that Irish banshee?”

“I’ve had worse ones,” Michael said. “And life with Fi would never be dull.” He tossed away the rag and Sam – who had been digging around in the glove compartment ever since he’d opened it- handed Mike a bottle of scotch and a glass.

“Is that aged scotch?” Michael raised an eyebrow. “Sam, I had no idea you cared that much.”

Sam poured a fingersworth for Michael into a Dixie cup, then did the same for himself. “Y’know I had to do it, Mike – I just wanted to surprise you for once.”

“The fact that you avoided dying today is the best one yet. “

Sam chuckled. “Now that Fi’s seen all of the gifts I bought you two knuckleheads, I knew I had to pull something great, so I snagged a bottle of booze while Fi was getting booked. Got the cups while you were silver tonguing her out of the hoosegow.”

“…Nice choice of words,” Michael said. He swirled the alcohol about the bottom of his cup and added, “do you know what she did for you?”

“Leave me a bruise that’ll make it easier for me to pick up any stray lonely bridesmaids?”

“She pretended to be pregnant. And in labor,” Michael gestured toward the church. “All for a guy she’s only kind of friendly with.” 

“Too bad her belly popped before they called the ambulance. ”

“Hazard of the trick.”

Sam gave Michael a grin. “I guess I have one of those mugs.”

“You have one of those personalities,” he replied. “Look at the two of us. Think back to Kuwait – would those guys lying on the floor of that motel room would grow up to be us?”

“Me,” Sam grinned. “You had it, Mike, even back then. I knew you’d end up somebody special and I’d be the one standing by you.”

Michael slugged down another mouthful of scotch. “You must have. This stuff goes for over five thousand dollars per ounce.”

“Heh, well – y’know I’ve got connections.” Sam groaned, stretching his rope-weary muscles. “So, let’s get out of this car and get you married.”

Michael grinned, tossing the paper cup out of his passenger side window. “Sounds good.” 

Sam was fast enough to slide around the opposite side of the car, pulling open Michael’s door. That wa when Sam noticed the state of disrepair that was Michael’s suit. “Hey, I can hold off Fi for another hour while I call in a tailor friend of mine. He works wonders, your suit would be spic and span by the time you’re…”

“Thank you,” Michael said dryly, “but you’ve helped enough.”

Sam shook his head. “Classic Mikey,” he laughed, bringing up the rear as they entered the chapel. 

Madeline grilled them both endlessly while Michael and Sam brushed the dust and dirt out of Michael’s clothing and Sam changed into his monkey suit. She started blotting Michael’s pants with a wet cloth, which is when Jesse entered the room.

“Yo, I held off the organist as long as I could. She started playing Baby Elephant Walk a couple of minutes ago and now I can’t get her to stop.” He eyed Michael. “And that’s what happens when you don’t take me along on these little trips.”

“Whatever,” Sam said, then tipped four sips of scotch into a line of empty water tumblers; he’d snuck back out for the bottle while they’d busied themselves fixing Michael’s suit. He raised his glass and said. “May I propose a toast. To my best friend and his soon to be wife. May they find joy, especially after the chase they put me through.”

“Here here,” Jesse said, and Madeline rolled her eyes before taking a sip. 

Crushing the cup, she said, “All right, boys – let’s get going.”

“Yeah, let’s,” Sam agreed, grinning. He clapped Michael on the shoulder and wrapped his other arm around Jesse’s before guiding both men out the door and down the stairs, and toward manhood.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses character from **Burn Notice** all of whom are the property of the **USA Network**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


End file.
